CHAPTER VII.

INTO DANGEROUS GROUND.

There were three whaling ships in winter quarters off the Norwegian fishing station, and all were from the United States.

The American sailors were among the Norwegians, and when they saw the stars and stripes fluttering from one of the Ranger’s masts, they set up a loud cheer.

Both captains then hailed Frank, asking what sort of craft the flying ice ship was, and he told them and asked:

“Has the Red Eric, of Boston, arrived here yet?”

“No, sir,” replied one of the captains; “but as we know she is coming here, we are on the lookout for her daily.”

“Is the captain a friend of yours?”

“Oh, no; nor any one else’s, for that matter,” replied the whaler. “He’s a very ugly man, who is not liked very much by any one.”

“I’m glad to hear that, for he certainly is a bad man, and I can prove it. He was paid to shanghai a boy whom he has got aboard his vessel, and we are going to help the lad to escape.”

“It’s just like him. But how did it come about?”

Frank detailed Walter Grey’s history.

At its conclusion, he added:

“Ben Bolt shot me. I am going to arrest him for it.”

“If we meet the rascal and you don’t happen to be around, you can rest assured that we will make him produce the boy.”

“Good enough!”

After some more talk they parted.

Frank sent the ship up into the frozen air.

Turning to Dr. Vaneyke, he said to him, cheerily:

“Now, then, to find the mastodon, professor.”

“Going now?”

“Yes; produce your directions.”

The professor drew a paper from his pocket.

He carefully read it over and then said:

“The man who discovered the remains said they were to be found in the ground at the head of Tchekin Bay, fifty miles north of here, on the eastern coast. The place is marked by a solitary cedar tree.”

“We shall be there in little more than an hour.”

Frank turned the flying ice ship up the coast.

As she passed the place haunted by the birds they flew away in fear, with a tremendous chorus of screams and violent whirring of wings.

The waves of the Kara Sea were breaking in a long line of foamy surf along the icy coast, and far out upon the heaving waters great bergs and ice floes were seen drifting along.

It was bitterly cold in the frozen sky, and the moisture from the low-hanging, gloomy clouds covered the Ranger with their vapor, which was quickly converted into slippery ice.

She was completely glazed with it in a short time, but the hot wires in the hollow masts kept the pivots free at the gyroscopes.

Pomp went down into the engine-room to lubricate the machinery, and as Barney was already there, he dodged out of sight behind a dynamo, from whence, he narrowly watched the darky’s movements.

The fun-loving Irishman had not forgotten the trick Pomp played on him in the Boston hotel.

He now saw a chance of evening matters up with the coon.

Unconscious of his danger, the diminutive darky went from one oil-cup to another, with the oil-can in his hand, filling them up.

As he was passing the dynamo behind which Barney crouched, the Celt passed a copper wire around his ankle and rapidly bound it there.

On went Pomp a few paces and paused at a point to be oiled.

The moment he touched the metal lid of the cup to open it, an electric shock flew through him that made him spring in the air.

“Ouch! Fo’ de lan’s sake!” he yelled. “Wha’ dat?”

He shook his fingers, glared at the oil-cup, and then pondered.

The wire Barney fastened to his leg was secured to one pole of the dynamo, and the Irishman had another wire from the other pole to the metal floor.

As the machinery was bolted to the floor, the moment Pomp touched any of the metal work, a complete circuit was made with his body, and a terrific shock was the result.

The Irishman chuckled over the success of his plan.

“Specs dey mus’ hab been some current in dat cup,” muttered the coon. “But dey ain’t no ‘lectrical connection dat I kin see.”

Feeling safe to go on with his work, he grasped the oil-cup cover again and made a second attempt to open it.

This time the shock was heavier.

“Wow!” shrieked the coon, and dropping the oil-can, he gave another jump and started off on a run.

He didn’t go far before he reached the end of the wire.

As he was going full speed, the jerk on his ankle pulled his leg from under him and he went to the floor with a bang.

“Sen’ fo’ de undahtakah! I’se a dead niggah!” he yelled, frantically.

He reached out his hand to assist himself to rise, but the contact with the floor completed the circuit again.

A wild whoop escaped him.

He humped up his back and bounced to his feet.

“I’se full ob it!” he howled. “Somebuddy insulate me!”

Just then he caught sight of the wire that tripped him.

He thought it was a loose piece into which his foot got tangled.

Intending to disengage it, he hoisted up the bound foot across his knee, and to balance himself reached out one hand and grasped one of the metal posts.

Another shock followed.

Pomp let out a roar that would have done credit to a Comanche.

He relaxed his hold on the post as if it were red hot, and made a wild rush for the other end of the room, bawling:

“De hull ship’s ‘lectrified! Tu’n on de hose! Lor’ amighty, put me out! I’se ‘lectrocuted! Help, help, help!”

Snap went the wire from his ankle just then.

It had necessarily been put on insecurely, and he gained his freedom.

Barney could not hold in his mirth any longer, for the comical antics of the coon tickled him immensely.

“Roon ye spalpeen, roon!” he yelled, popping up from behind the dynamo. “If yez lucks back, yez will busht loike a bomb!”

Pomp paused.

It instantly flashed across his mind that Barney was responsible for the shocks he received, for the Celt was laughing immoderately.

“Lord amassa!” he gasped. “Yo’ done dat, I’ish?”

“Is it ter me yez are alludin’ wid disrespect?”

“Jes’ tell me dat—yo’ done gib me dat ‘lectricity?”

“Faix, it’s an insoolt yez trow me be yez suspishey!”

“Once mo’, Barney O’Shea,” roared Pomp. “Yo’ done dat?”

“Do yez take me for an electric eel?”

“Dat wuz a great joke,” sadly said Pomp, returning. “I done gib yo’ credit fo’ dat, yo’ ole flannel-mouf terrier! Shake han’s on it. Dat’s one on me, honey, sho’s yo’ born!”

He extended his big paw, and Barney roared laughing.

“Be heavens!” said he, “it’s the divil we O’Sheas bes at playin’ good wans on ther naygurs. I’m glad yez take it loike a man. Here’s me fisht, and may ther next wan bate this joke.”

He slapped his hand into the coon’s.

“Hurroar!” he yelled. “I’se got yer! Take dat, yo’ babboon! An’ dat, yo’ ole snoozer! An’ dat, yo’ blamed son ob a gorilla!”

And biff—bang—boom! went his foot.

Every time he let fly Barney was raised from the floor.

As soon as he recovered from his astonishment, he struggled to get away, but Pomp had a grip like a vise upon him and would not let go until he booted the Celt all around the room.

“Be heavens! I thought yez was frindly,” raved Barney.

“Yo’ did, huh? So I is, chile. I lub yo’ like a brudder. Golly! how much mo’ yo’ spec ob a feller?”

“Lave go av me!”

“Not till I’se got froo.”

“I’ll be afther butcherin’ yez!”

“G’wan! Yo done dat already!”

And with a parting hoister Pomp let him go.

Barney put on a sickly but winning smile and extended his hand.

“Shake hands. It’s quits we are intoirely,” he observed, sweetly.

“Git out ob heah, yo’ white trash!” bellowed Pomp, picking up an ax. “Wanter play de same game on me, hey? Guess not, honey. Dey ain’t no flies on dis coon, an’ don’ yo’ forgit it!”

“See here, me buck——”

“Clar out, or I’se gwine ter scalp yo’ wif dis!”

And Pomp had such a ferocious look upon his face as he rushed for Barney, with the ax uplifted, that the Irishman took flight and fled from the room, gasping:

“Begorry, the naygur’s off his nut, an’ there’ll be a bloody ruction here wid me for ther coorpse av I sthay.”

Pomp was satisfied.

A large ripe grin overspread his mug.

“Beat him dat time,” he chuckled.

He laid aside the ax, and picking up the oil-can, resumed his work with no further molestation from the Irishman.

All this time the ice boat had been going on up the coast. In due course of time she reached the bay they were looking for, and the professor located the lone cedar tree.

“Very well,” said Frank, as he did so.

A queer sensation at once assailed the Ranger.

Surprised at this Frank glanced out of the window.

Here a startling sight met his view.

The ground seemed to be sinking under the weight of the Ranger.

“Good Heaven! What’s this?” he gasped.

“There must be soft ground under us,” replied Vaneyke.

“I’ll raise the boat again.”

He grasped the gyroscope lever and turned it, but though the wheels spun around the ice ship did not rise.

Her runners and wheels had become caught and held fast by the treacherous ground under her.